


Scars

by brazilian_mess



Series: brarg week 2020 [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Latin Hetalia - Hetalia
Genre: BrargWeek2020, Historical Hetalia, M/M, and the otp being angry hot headed idiots with each other, brargweek, tw blood, tw mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazilian_mess/pseuds/brazilian_mess
Summary: Martín reached out, brushing his fingers against the scar again. "Does it have anything to do with me?", he ventured. Luciano shrugged, withdrawing automatically. He glanced at Martín, sighed and tilted his head to the side."Many of my marks have to do with you.""I asked about this one in particular, now."Luciano clicked his tongue. "Yes. It has something to do with you. Happy?"“Happy that you answered my question? Yes. Not so happy that the scar has to do with me.”“Ah, Tinho. Half of my scars were your doing, and half of yours were mine. It is no surprise. And it's not that big of a deal”
Relationships: Argentina/Brazil (Hetalia)
Series: brarg week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025643
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, Happy BrArg Week everyone!  
> I was so excited it felt like this day would never come lols  
> Hope you enjoy 😊

Luciano came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, shaking his head in an attempt to get the rest of the water out of his hair. After drying off, he groped in the dark of the room until he reached the bed, lifted the cover on the right side and slipped in there, fitting in with Martín, who had been lying there for some time in an intermediate state between just standing still and being asleep.

“Luci, you're freezing”, despite the complaint, Martín pulled his boyfriend closer to him, wincing so that his nose was in the curve of Luciano's neck, who gave a low chuckle in response.

“Sorry, I will get warm soon”, turning around, Luciano pressed the Argentine against him, taking a deep breath. They both went silent, listening to each other's breathing and heart beating, their hands exploring each other's bodies. While Martín's hand roamed Luciano's torso, he stopped in an area different to the touch, placed just above the Brazilian's hip bone.

"I don't think I remember this one," he murmured, half to himself, half to Luciano, "wait a minute". He stretched over his boyfriend, lighting a lamp located on a small dresser next to the bed, "is it new?" He asked, sitting down with his legs crossed and eyes on the Brazilian's face.

Luciano sighed and propped himself up on his elbows, resting his gaze on his own hip, "no, it's quite old, actually". Martin bit his lower lip, eyebrows coming together in a worried expression.

“But it was gone, until now. Specially in this place, it is impossible that I never noticed it”, Luciano raised his eyebrows, giving Martín a mischievous smile, who rolled his eyes in return, “I'm serious, Luciano, scars should disappear after a while. Most of mine do, at least.”

“They come back, from time to time. Mine, I mean. None disappear forever", he stretched his arms, allowing himself to sink into the mattress as he murmured the answer, "they don't hurt or anything, but they don't disappear."

"How old is this one?"

“About a hundred and fifty years, perhaps? One more, one less. I don't really remember”, Luciano shook his right hand in front of his face, trying not to answer Martín's question directly, to which Martín just raised an eyebrow, making it clear that he would not ignore the topic so easily.

Martín reached out, brushing his fingers against the scar again. "Does it have anything to do with me?", he ventured. Luciano shrugged, withdrawing automatically. He glanced at Martín, sighed and tilted his head to the side.

"Many of my marks have to do with you."

"I asked about this one in particular, now."

Luciano clicked his tongue. "Yes. It has something to do with you. Happy?"

“Happy that you answered my question? Yes. Not so happy that the scar has to do with me.”

“Ah, Tinho. Half of my scars were your doing, and half of yours were mine. It is no surprise. And it's not that big of a deal” Luciano folded his arms behind his head, turning his face towards Martín, smiling slightly at him. Martín bit his lower lip, uncrossing his legs and lying face down next to Luciano, brushing aside a curl that fell in front of Luciano’s eyes with a smooth movement of his hand.

“Did I do this directly? With a sword or something? ”

"Not directly, no."

"How was it, then?"

"My God, man," Luciano rolled his eyes, a weak laugh escaping his lips, "you do like to relive the past." Martín stared back at him in silence. "Ok, let me see if I remember everything ..."

* * *

The flame of the lantern inside the tent flickered, making Luciano's shadow appear gigantic on the fabric behind him. He was leaning on the table with his fists closed, eyes fixed on the two letters he had received. One already open, Arthur's unofficial one, and one still with anl intact seal, that of the British Empire. His uncle and godfather's personal letter cast an even more pessimistic aura on that damned campaign than it already had, so he wasn't exactly excited to read the official opinion from the conflict mediators.

The Brazilian felt his shoulders shake. Since the beginning of his fight for independence, his body had been suffering from spasms from time to time, due to general stress. And now Sebastián was actively trying to fasten his premature aging, the bastard. Not to mention Martín, getting into battles and matters that were not his.

Upon hearing a rustle of fabric, indicating that someone had entered the tent, Luciano's hand rested on a dagger next to the letters, without turning or showing that he had noticed the new presence.

“I'm going to make an exception and admit this time, because your morale must be low, but I did have some work getting in here”, lowering the hood of his travel cover and fixing his blond hair, Martín snorted at the sight of his enemy in battle. Luciano felt his upper lip twitch in a mixture of anger and hurt.

His fingers suddenly closed around the handle of the dagger. He forced himself to open his hand, ignoring his instincts.

“I didn't think you were going to be in the field, knowing how you hate these campaigns”, Luciano turned around to face the Argentine, indicating a low wooden stool with his head, for him to sit down.

Martín nodded, thanking him silently, and lowered himself to the bench slowly, while holding the left side of his body. He had deep dark circles around his eyes, as if he hadn't really slept in a long time, and his breathing was heavy, tired. Luciano felt his chest twist slightly when he noticed how exhausted his rival appeared to be.

“I don't hate it, I just don't love it. It's dirty and chaotic, and not in a good way. You would leave here too, if you could”, the Argentine replied softly, stretching his legs. He faced the other man, in a silent invitation for Luciano to sit beside him. Luciano pulled another bench over to Martín’s side and settled there, taking a comfortable enough distance from the other, under the current circumstances.

“I wouldn't be at peace in the palace at a time like this. I know you wouldn't relax at your home, either. What do you want, Martín?”, the Brazilian stared at the man in front of him, with severe eyes. Martin frowned, his eyes hardening in response.

"I received a letter. From the British Empire.”

"Yes, and?", Luciano interrupted the other's thought, impatient.

Martín grunted and rolled his eyes, “I want to know if you've already read the damn letter. I know you received one too, that English wouldn’t stop talking to you. I don't doubt that he told you other things off the records, actually.”

"Are you implying something, Martín?"

"Of course not. You’re on the loser side, anyways”, the blonde replied with a malicious smile. Luciano bit his tongue, trying not to lose his cool. His eyes, however, sparkled, betraying him. Martín hesitated for a millisecond upon the sight of Luciano's eyes, but not enough to the point of showing, “as I said, I came to know if you have read the letter. I imagine you have not, I know how slow you can be. ”

"I haven't read it yet, and if that's what you wanted to know, you can leave now."

“But you have already received it,” the Argentine said, without waiting for an answer, “read it now, then.”

Luciano sighed, feeling another spasm run lightly through his body, unsuccessfully trying to disguise it. Martin settled himself on the bench when he noticed this, leaning on his knees but not doing anything. "Right. If it’s going to make you stop bothering me for the rest of the night. In fact, do you plan to stay? ”

"Why, do you want me to stay?"

“Hm. It would be a chance to neutralize you at least for now and have a little peace during the rest of the war”, he muttered. Martín did not hold back his laughter this time, holding the side of his torso lightly again.

“Ah, Luciano, I know you wouldn't do that”, the Brazilian softened his eyes a little and raised his eyebrows at the blonde, “read the letter already.”

Rising slowly because of the spasms that had not yet subsided, Luciano walked to the wooden table in the corner of the tent and took the letter still sealed, throwing Arthur's personal message under other papers and maps in order to hide it, discreetly.

The two remained silent, while Luciano was reading. Martín decided to get up and walk around the tent, uneasy. The two had not seen each other, at least alone, for some years now. The last time had been when the war was actually declared, and Martíns had gone to get Sebastián from the Brazilian's house. Luciano appeared to be so much older now that the Argentine, although he had restrained himself in order not to show it, hardly recognized him when he entered the tent. His thoughts were interrupted by Luciano's angry exclamation.

"That bastard son of a bitch wants me to do _what_?", Luciano threw the parchment back on the table, kicking one of the benches next to him right after.

Martin swore under his breath, moving quickly to where the other was, an urgent expression on his face.

“Shut up, idiot, you’re going to get someone's attention. It is already a miracle that nobody saw my horse at the edge of the camp, if they catch me here they’ll kill me, and it would be a very unpleasant inconvenience at this point.”

“Why the fuck would I care if someone found your damn horse, Martín. You came here to rub in my face the fact that Arthur touched on the subject of my surrender, or will you deny it?”, the Brazilian's honey-colored eyes had a maniac glow of hate when they pierced the man in front of him. Martín straightened up his back, assuming his usual arrogant aura.

“There is no reason for me to deny it. It is a very sensible suggestion, in my opinion. And an obvious one at that, too”, his tone came out sharp. Martín felt a twinge in his body and put his hand under his uniform coat, lightly touching his torso. It had started bleeding again. Luciano registered the fact but did not react.

“Of course you think so”, hissed the Brazilian in a low and threatening tone, starting to tremble, this time in fury, “it would be great for you if I gave up. You could go back to your balls, your parties, your comfort. It would feed your fucking ego just right, I'm sure.”

“It would be great to see you admit that you are wrong, Luciano, yes”, the Argentine stepped forward, taking advantage of his superior height, “if you prefer to continue being beaten day after day, letting your own people die for an imbecile war that you _know_ you’re going to lose, then it's your fucking problem. Deal with it, you and your conscience. But deep down you have to admit that I'm right.”

The two nations faced each other, silent but leaving the fury that both now felt drip very openly. When he finished hearing Martín's words, the Brazilian felt his ears ring. Without thinking twice, he fisted his hands. The blow was sure in the wound in Martíns torso, who let the air escape and bent over his stomach with a grunt, managing to avoid the humiliation that would be falling on his knees screaming. Blood flowed, staining the white shirt he wore under his uniform.

“Go to hell, Luciano”, the curse was interrupted by Martín’s shaky breath, his head down, “you know that your incompetent emperor received an official letter too, don't you? The war is practically over by this point, it’s just your pathetic pride that still won’t accept it.” When he felt his rival approaching him to offer some support, Martín drew back his right fist, throwing a punch to Luciano's lower abdomen while keeping him in place by holding his shoulder with his left hand.

Without knowing it, Martín had hit a deep cut on the other 's body, which was in the process of healing, opening it again.

Luciano cursed and pushed Martín with a firm jerk, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the stinging pain that went from his hip to almost his groin. And the blood, which was beginning to soak the pants of the uniform he wore.

“I've already dealt with the matter I wanted to address,” Martín growled low, his face contorted in an expression of hatred, “do you want me to call someone to take a look at that?”

“Didn't you say that no one could know you were here? Did you decide to die, huh?”

“Don't be ridiculous, like I can't knock out your soldiers. Do you want it or not, damn it,” he spat out the words.

“Don't fucking bother me, Martín. Just get me that cloth over there, get one for yourself too, if you like”, Luciano shivered, sweating cold, but managed to raise his arm and weakly indicate a pile of dirty clothes. Martín tripped over to them, tore a shirt and wrapped it around his torso, while tossing another one to Luciano, without looking at him.

“Then I'll be going. It would be in good spirits if you answered the proposal as quickly as possible, it's not like you have time to lose.” He marched to the entrance of the tent, fishing for his travel coat along the way, and slightly lifted the opening cloth while spying on the outside movement. He glanced over his shoulder at a Luciano sitting on the floor, pressing a torn shirt to the wound. Martín restrained the desire to soften his gaze. "See you, Luciano."

Pulling the hood until it covered his whole face, Martín came out of the tent, kicking an iron cauldron down the path near Luciano's tent and drawing the attention of some men who were there. He disappeared shortly after he was sure that the idiots were going to enter the rival's tent, in silence.

* * *

Luciano went silent, fiddling with the sheets of the bed while waiting for the argentine’s reaction, still lying next to each other.

"I'm sorry about that, Luci," Martín whispered, his sky blue eyes locked on Luciano's, "really." The Brazilian stared back, without reaction. He frowned, puzzled.

“Sorry for what exactly, Tinho? It was no big deal... It was a complicated time”, he said in a calm tone, pretending he didn’t care.

“Still,” Martín continued, stroking his boyfriend's hair, “it wasn't… right… provoking you at a time like that. It's not like I was much better at the time.”

Luciano smiled slightly.

"Nobody was, Tinho."

Martín stretched forward, rubbing his nose against Luciano's, consequently brushing their lips too. The brazilian smiled, closing the space between the two with a soft kiss. He wrapped his arms around Martín's neck, pulling the Argentine on top of himself, causing Martín to chuckle. Luciano made a soft sound, cutting off the kiss.

"By the way," he asked, "didn't you get a scar from the cut I punched?"

Martin smiled mischievously.

"As I said, mine fades. But I did, yeah. Weak, but I did get one. I seduced lots of people with my proof of bravery, to be honest.”

"Yup. Let me see, then. Take off your clothes, _now_.”


End file.
